My Demon Husband novel · Chapter 1 of 32
Chapter 1: Four Hundred a Month
Evicted at dawn, Dorrie signs a cheap lease, the pen cuts her thumb, and that night a demon with three hellhounds tells her she didn't rent his apartment, she married him.
The pen cut my thumb on the last line of the lease.
It was a cheap plastic pen with a split in the barrel, and the split was sharp.
A bead of blood dropped right onto my signature.
"Oh, no, I'm so sorry," I said. "I'll sign a clean copy."
The broker in the gray suit slid the paper away before I could touch it.
"That one's fine, Ms. Kimball."
He smiled at the red spot.
I should have walked out.
But I'd been homeless since seven that morning, and the rent was four hundred a month.
At seven that morning, a locksmith was changing the locks on my apartment on Calder Street.
I'd paid my rent on time for four years.
Greaves Holdings bought the building in June and doubled it.
I was two weeks into my thirty days when the property manager decided thirty was too many.
My mattress was on the curb when I came down.
So were my clothes, my coffee maker and the box of books I'd carried through six foster homes.
My neighbors stood on their steps and watched.
The property manager leaned on his car with a coffee.
"Should've read the fine print, sweetheart," he said.
A couple of people laughed.
"I did read it," I said. "You broke it."
"Take it to court."
"I work at the court."
"Then you know how long that takes."
He tossed the old key in the gutter.
I picked up what I could carry and left the rest.
By four I was sitting across from the broker in a coffee shop in the Arts District, with my whole life in a canvas tote.
The listing said two bedrooms, Vine Street, four hundred a month.
I'm a filing clerk at the city housing court.
I knew exactly what a listing like that usually meant.
I signed anyway.
He gave me a brass key with a green tag.
"Congratulations," he said.
I thought it was a strange word for a lease.
The Larkspur was six stories of old red brick with a green front door.
The lobby smelled like floor wax and somebody's onions.
Unit 5C was the nicest place I'd ever been allowed inside.
Tall windows. Wood floors. A kitchen that looked like nobody had ever cooked in it.
I stood in the living room until it got dark, waiting for the catch.
At nine o'clock, the catch stepped out of the wall.
The shadow by the bookcase stood up.
It became a man.
He was very tall, in a long black coat, with black hair and black eyes.
Three dogs came out of the dark behind him.
They were black, and as big as ponies, and their eyes glowed red.
"You're in my home," he said.
His voice was low and very calm.
"I have a lease," I said.
"That document isn't a lease."
He held it up between two fingers.
My blood had dried brown on the signature line.
"Your blood on it sealed you to this house," he said. "For fifteen days, you won't leave it. You'll follow my rules. You'll keep out of my study."
"And if I don't?"
"Then you'll learn the rules in ways your body will remember."
The biggest dog walked up and sniffed my knees.
I held my hand out flat.
It shoved its huge head under my palm.
I scratched behind its ear, and its back leg thumped the floor.
The man stared at it.
"That animal has killed things older than your language."
"He's a good boy," I said.
"He's a hellhound."
"I've lived with worse," I said. "Six foster homes in twelve years. One of them kept a pit bull chained in the kitchen and fed it better than me. Honestly, an ancient shadow thing is an upgrade."
"Disobey me and it could kill you."
I thought about the curb.
"That's not a dealbreaker."
He looked at me for a long time.
Then he pointed at the front door.
"Walk out now," he said. "The pain will last a week. Then it fades, and you'll forget my face."
"Where would I walk to?"
"That isn't my concern."
"No, it's mine."
I carried my tote down the hall.
There were two bedrooms.
I took the bigger one and dropped my bag on the bed.
When I came back, he hadn't moved.
"Ms. Kimball," he said. "This is a mistake."
"I've made plenty. Give me that."
I took the lease out of his hand.
I read everything. It's the one thing I'm good at.
I read the rent, the dates and my own messy signature: Dorrie Kimball.
Then I turned it over.
The back was covered in tiny red marks.
I was about to say it was gibberish.
But while I looked at them, the scratches turned into words.
I could read them.
I didn't know how. I just could.
The top line said: COVENANT OF THE HEARTH.
The next line said: SHE WHO SEALS IT IN BLOOD SHALL BE SPOUSE OF THE HEARTH, AND HIS.
I read it twice.
"What's a spouse of the hearth?"
The man went very still.
"You can read that."
"Answer the question."
The three hounds sat down in a row and looked at me.
"Nobody human reads that," he said quietly.
"Well, I just did. What is it?"
He took one step toward me, and the lamps flickered.
"You didn't rent my apartment, Ms. Kimball," he said. "You married me."
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